It is very cold, and besides, I have one, so I am simply not in the mood to do anything useful at all. Instead, I took a nice hot shower, with Hector the cat snuggled in between the shower curtains enjoying the warmth and Pete lying low on the bathroom floor hoping I didn't get inspired to wash any dogs. This was such a success that I finished up and promptly filled the tub, grabbing my New Yorker and immersing myself in both.
As I wallowed and, with growing horror, realized that this week seemed to be the doomsday issue, I noticed that Hector was shifting his position on the edge of the tub. At first I thought perhaps he, like I, was reading attentively to see if Vermont, Alaska or the sailboat was the better way to prepare for the end of Life As We Now Know It, but no. He was just getting a drink. (He also likes spinone water, so I just don't ask.) You know what happened.Head stuffed, bosom bloodied, cat wet...February 1.
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